


Into Darkness

by WoodlandGoddess1



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abduction Roleplay, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Caning, Consensual Non-Consent, Enchanted Dildo, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, M/M, Top Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:45:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoodlandGoddess1/pseuds/WoodlandGoddess1
Summary: Arthur swallowed thickly, watching as Merlin dozed atop one of the various thick tomes he’d been instructed to read to further his medicinal studies as an apprentice. His familiar features looked so soft and vulnerable while sleeping – so different compared to the man made of sharp edges and hard lines that brought Arthur to heel with such ease and skill.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about role-play, and even less about CNC. I wrote this because I had a dream and decided to roll with it for the Bottom!Arthur Fest: Fall Edition. I've never written something like this before. I hope I didn't f**k up too much.
> 
> I'm also almost 100% certain some of the sex-scene in the second chapter was inspired by a porn-video I saw ages ago. I went looking, but couldn't find it.
> 
> As always, this isn't beta'd. All mistakes are mine. 
> 
> I own nothing; Merlin and Arthur belong to BBC/Shine. 
> 
> Feel free to let me know what you think!

Arthur swallowed thickly, watching as Merlin dozed atop one of the various thick tomes he’d been instructed to read to further his medicinal studies as an apprentice. His familiar features looked so soft and vulnerable while sleeping – so different compared to the man made of sharp edges and hard lines that brought Arthur to heel with such ease and skill. It was such a remarkable difference. Perhaps as remarkable a difference as the one between the man now ruling as regent while his father withered slowly, inexorably, to his own inevitable demise and the man that trembled with desire when forced to his knees at the hands of someone capable and confident. Arthur shivered with the purest longing at the thought and looked away, a knot forming in his stomach as he retreated from the small and cramped quarters that weren’t good enough for the manservant that had stood at his side so resolutely, so unwavering in his support despite being quick to stand up and claim a mistake was being made. He needed more men like that in his service. He might now be on the verge of becoming King, but he could still be rash and reckless at times when the finer details escaped him.

He needed Merlin.

He’d needed him from the moment he’d started longing to explore his own deviancy, though he hadn’t known he’d existed then. He’d found other means of relieving the tension knotting his shoulders and straightening his spine. He’d tracked and slaughtered animals for a feast too often. He’d turned a harsh hand and a harsher mouth upon those that needed his protection the most. Shame flooded through him as he remembered that serving boy, the one he’d been tormenting on that long ago day, the moment when Merlin had walked into his life and refused to leave. Arthur had been arrogant at the best of times and cruel at the worst. But he’d longed for someone to fist his hair and put him in his place instead. He’d longed to be commanded behind closed doors and he’d had no one to provide him with such an exquisite relief for so long. And then Merlin had come along, insolent and stubborn and still caring all the same. Arthur had desired him at once. He’d desired him and had done nothing but attempt to push him away, unable to speak of his depraved desires despite the immediate spark of attraction between them.

His desires had been somewhat tame until recently, tamer than the one coursing through him now at least and he knew he couldn’t put Merlin through something as depraved as this.

It was vile and barbaric.

It was shameful.

Arthur strode past Gaius as the wizened fellow worked quietly, his heart hammering and his stomach churning, an overabundance of stress eating through his limbs and leaving his movements almost painful. He’d find some other way, some other means of relieving the tension in his body; he had to. Merlin was too warm and loving for him to request something as dreadful as this.

What he needed now wasn’t the same as a mere spanking or a fist buried in his hair as he choked on the hard length thrusting deep into his mouth. It wasn’t the same as a firm voice commanding him to strip while a dark and calculating stare watched him comply, hands trembling and breath stuttering, the knots of stress easing even as some part of his mind rebelled against the notion of compliance. It wasn’t the same as being denied an orgasm while having intercourse.

Arthur stormed through the castle and soon barricaded himself in his chambers. He seized the first item that came to hand and hurled it at the nearest wall with a strangled shout of despair.

His heart thundered in his chest.

He cursed himself for being so depraved.

Arthur sank down on the edge of his bed and wondered what he’d done to deserve being this way, to deserve being warped inside until nothing resembling a nobleman remained. He wondered where he’d gone wrong, what mistakes he’d made to end up like this. He blinked his blurring vision clear and fiddled with the silver ring he wore. He couldn’t tell Merlin about this sudden and unwholesome desire. Though he would try, Merlin wouldn’t understand this particular deviancy, and Arthur couldn’t bear that prospect. He couldn’t bear to see that pinched brow or the shadow in his stare or the tightness around his mouth.

Far too easily, Arthur remembered the moment Merlin had discovered even the shallowest depths of his deviancy, when he’d been training the man in close combat and encouraging him to give a fair attempt to defeat him. He could remember the rush of air from his mouth as his manservant managed to catch him off-guard somehow and the bruising force of his impact with the ground beneath him. He’d learned later that magic had been used to achieve that moment of victory, but he didn’t mind so much now that he and Merlin had grown so close to each other. Arthur could remember the rough weight of those pale hands as Merlin pinned his wrists above his head with a strength that seemed at odds with his gentle nature and the press of his firm thigh between his own. He could remember his thundering heartbeat and the surge of uncontrollable heat in his belly, not to mention the spark of strained realisation in that kind face he’d come to cherish as it hovered over him. He could also remember the terror that had coursed through him – that other men serving beneath him would discover his deviancy, or that his father would. He’d turned his head away, his face blanching, snapping at Merlin to release him or he’d spend the night in the dungeon.

He could remember how Merlin had stiffened at the command before scrambling away, so quick to put distance between himself and Arthur. He could still feel the sharp burst of regret he’d experienced in that moment whenever he allowed himself to brood over matters that troubled him. That one brief moment had troubled him so much and for so long – both because of his instinctive urge to lash out in fear of being discovered as a shameful deviant and because of the spark of distressed disappointment that had flared across those familiar features in the instant before Merlin had retreated at his command.

That moment seemed so long ago now.

Merlin had since become one of his dearest companions and ultimately, his cherished lover. He was the man Arthur trusted most in the whole of Camelot. Not even the countless dependable and powerful warriors serving beneath him could compare to his faithful manservant. Arthur would have allowed no other man to pin him down against the bed and restrain him before subjecting him to the most exquisite tortures for their mutual personal pleasure.

Arthur could still remember the evening Merlin had strode into his chambers almost casually, a shining red apple held in one hand and a sharp knife from the kitchens in the other. He could remember the fluttering surge of anticipation in his abdomen as Merlin had bolted the door slowly, while looking at him and smirking sinfully, a glimmer of dark intent sparkling in his stare as Arthur watched from his writing desk. He’d watched as the man settled at the private dining table without even seeking permission and had wanted to rebuke him immediately, but he’d been struck silent at the sight of him acting so masterfully, so confidently, as though he owned each inch of the chambers surrounding him and Arthur was nothing more than decoration he’d deemed fit enough to remain in his presence.

“Stand up.”

Arthur had risen automatically, before he’d even realised what he was doing, and then he’d shivered with pleasure as the faintest hint of a pleased smile made an appearance on that insolent mouth he’d longed to feel trailing harsh and biting kisses down his neck. A second command had followed the first a moment later: _step around the desk and strip._ A rush of something hot had flooded through him as he’d followed the command silently, his hands trembling, a profound need burning in his veins as one article of his clothing after another dropped to pool on the floor at his feet. He’d been ordered to straddle his lap and then to eat each slice of apple proffered to him. He’d moaned as he’d complied with the command and tasted the fusion of sweet apple and salt as his tongue grazed pale skin over and over.

Merlin had stroked him to completion then. He’d stroked him with one firm hand while his free arm slipped around him possessively, hand pressing hot against the small of his back as he murmured praise and endearments for behaving so well. It had been one of the most exquisite pleasures he’d ever experienced up until that moment.

Arthur thought about that moment now and how far he’d come since then. He’d often been a good boy, or so Merlin liked to murmur into his ear privately, a compliment that was more of a stretch now than ever and hearing it made him quiver still. But sometimes he’d needed to be punished for disobedience and Merlin had been a firm master from the beginning, but a patient one. Merlin knew he sometimes struggled to obey, given that he’d been trained for the monarchy, and it was most apparent when it came to doing something his father would balk at. Straddling the lap of a man and eating some fruit from his hand wasn’t as much of a hardship compared to bending over the nearest table and putting himself on display, offering himself to that same man.

Future monarchs weren’t meant to be conquered. Nor were future monarchs meant to be so willing to be a puppet at the hands of someone else.

Had his father discovered his deviancy, it would have been terrible. But it would have been far worse for him to discover he’d been exploring that part of himself with a mere manservant of all people. Arthur had been careful to keep Merlin at a distance during the day, ensuring that he reprimanded his manservant several times a day, ensuring that he seemed as hard a man as usual in public. What happened behind closed doors was another matter entirely, and Arthur kept that knowledge close to his heart. He would never let someone take this special and unique bond between them away, no matter who might discover them together now.

He belonged to Merlin and that was final.

Arthur was still thinking of his beloved master when the door to his chambers opened and he raised his head to see Merlin standing in the doorway, a troubled expression etched upon his face. He flushed and looked away, his jaw clenching, and wasn’t surprised when Merlin made a noise of displeasure. His master hated it whenever Arthur looked away, whenever he tried to hide something important from him. Arthur swallowed almost audibly, his heart skipping a dozen beats as footsteps approached slowly, surely, his master coming nearer and nearer until a firm hand seized his chin and forced him to look.

“You came to see me and then walked away,” Merlin said quietly, his mouth a firm line and his gaze nebulous. His other hand soothed his hair back from his forehead gently, a small reminder that his master wasn’t angry, but concerned about him. Something warm swelled in his chest even as knots of despair tightened in his stomach. “You needed me for something and left without seeking help. Why?”

“You were sleeping,” Arthur answered softly, knowing his response wasn’t an honest one and unable to offer the real reason for not waking him from slumber. His lashes pressed hard against his cheeks as he waited for the imminent reprimand: he knew Merlin hated being lied to about such important matters. He wasn’t surprised when the hand buried in his hair grew punishing, his neck protesting as his head was wrenched back. His scalp seared beneath his touch. Hot tears welled to the surface and Arthur struggled to keep them at bay, humiliation burning through him even as his abdomen tightened. His cock twitched between his thighs and hardened quickly, threatening to rip through the laces keeping his trousers secured. His gaze snapped open to see Merlin frowning, displeasure underscoring his concern. “I’m sorry,” Arthur choked out immediately, gasping, “I’m sorry, Sire. I won’t lie again.”

“I expect nothing less. Now tell me why,” Merlin commanded firmly, the grip of his authoritative hand easing at once as something akin to relief flickered across his familiar features. He soothed his tender scalp with gentle fingers. Trembling, Arthur melted into his loving touch immediately, needing this contact and so much more from his master. He swallowed when Merlin cradled his neck with his free hand and pressed his thumb against the pulse point in a silent promise. “I can’t help unless I know what the matter is.”

“You wouldn’t understand!”

Tears spilled against his will as no small amount of shame flooded through Arthur immediately, the sensation hot and heavy, filling his chest to bursting as Merlin stared down at him in a mixture of hurt and surprise. It was unusual for the tears to spill so quickly; his master often had to coax them free through the most exquisite of tortures. Merlin softened instantly, slender arms wrapping around him as Arthur clung to his master in return and choked out repeated apologies for insulting his capabilities.

“Hey,” Merlin whispered soothingly, carding his gentle hand through his hair. Soft kisses rained down over his face as Arthur continued to tremble and struggle to curb the emotions burning through him. “Hey, darling boy,” his master continued gently, using one of the various terms of endearment he’d invoke in the wake of their more strenuous nights of play, “when have I ever given reason to doubt me in situations like these? I can’t understand something unless I’m given the chance: our relationship needs trust and communication to survive. You know that.”

“We can’t talk about this.” Arthur shook his head adamantly, extricating himself from the embrace he still craved. Despair gnawed at his innards. He raised a trembling hand and ran it over his face quickly, doing his best to wipe the evidence away, loathing the fact that he’d wept like that in front of his master and his dear friend. He hated weeping without having been tormented first. It was shameful and weak and served to prove that he wasn’t fit to be King, that he’d never be fit to rule Camelot. And the stress of that knowledge just served to remind him of what he needed from Merlin. His throat constricted around the words that escaped him a moment later. “I can’t ask for this. You’re too warm and loving to do something like this for me.”

“Warm and loving,” Merlin teased quietly, his mouth curling around a faint smile. His hand captured his jaw and encouraged Arthur to look at him. “That wasn’t what I heard when I spanked that lush backside the other day, darling boy, was it?”

Arthur flushed deeply, both from hearing the familiar endearment again and from remembering the moment he’d been shoved down over the writing desk after insulting his master without thinking, the stress of ruling rife within his broader body, and Merlin had ripped open his trousers with a controlled burst of magic before bringing his masterful hand down hard on his backside. He’d choked on a gasp at the unexpected force and he’d squirmed immediately, struggling to break away, but pleasure had flared inside him even as the vibrant pain ebbed and then that punishing hand had come down all over again. He’d been lost to the exquisite and unbearable sensations soon enough. Merlin had spanked him until Arthur was weak and sobbing, his cock hard and aching, and his seed staining the papers on his writing desk. But his master had punished him even further: he’d kept him on the edge of his climax while fingering him open with slick fingers and then he’d inserted one of his wooden creations before soothing his red and heated backside with a familiar ointment and ordering him to get back to work.

Just like that.

He hadn’t even allowed him to slip into a new pair of trousers.

For so long, it had been hard to concentrate on what he’d been doing before insulting his master. The press of his backside against his chair had him squirming in discomfort even as the repeated press of that thick wooden creation against that sensitive bundle of nerves inside him had him stifling gasps and biting his bottom lip in an attempt to contain his frustrated pleasure. But he’d persevered and he’d focused eventually, managing to get some work done before being freed from his punishment. Merlin had taken him to bed eagerly, gripping his thighs and sliding inside roughly, his possessive thrusts punctuated with grunts of exertion as Arthur clung to his master and complained that he was a damned bastard through ragged whimpers of need.

He’d begged to be taken harder all the while.

Merlin had complied without hesitation.

Still flushing, Arthur gazed at Merlin now and couldn’t help the glimmer of hope that ignited within him. He leaned into the gentle hand still cradling his jaw. Perhaps he could talk to Merlin about this after all. It wouldn’t mean he’d have to go through with such a thing. He would never prevent Merlin from declining, from being unable to offer some part of himself as part of their play, their games that let them both feel so good. What right then did he have to prevent his master from even hearing him out? It wasn’t his place to decide what Merlin could and couldn’t do – no more than his master could force something upon him that he didn’t want from him.

Arthur dropped his gaze after another long moment of circuitous contemplation and confessed tentatively, “I think I need something, something heavier than what we’ve done before. What happened the other day; I don’t think it was enough. I’m still...I’m still tense _all the time_. I’m snapping more often than I’ve done in the recent past and I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to be the man I was before we met...but I don’t know how to talk about this.”

“There is nothing we can’t talk about in here.” Merlin spoke quietly, but his gaze burned with the strength of his protective nature when Arthur looked at him again. He captured his hand and squeezed. “I want to hear about these needs and desires – no matter how difficult or how dark. You need to trust me and I’m willing to wait for that trust. No matter how long it takes.”

“But I do!”

“Then tell me what I need to do.” Merlin raised his hand without warning and pressed a gentle kiss against the palm. He gazed at Arthur warmly, his expression soft and adoring, though a glimmer of expectation remained beneath it all. “Darling boy, tell me how I can help. Tell me how I can make things better. Just remember to breathe.”

“I...I had a dream last night.” A tremulous breath escaped Arthur as he spoke the words that had sat upon his tongue all day, his head whirring, remembering the images that had plagued him not long before he’d woken at dawn. Arthur swallowed thickly, wetting his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue. His free hand clutched the bedclothes beside him. His face flushed with no small amount of heat as Merlin raised a brow inquisitively, the arch almost sinful in its curiosity, his master wondering what kind of dream could have led to his reluctance to speak up. Merlin squeezed his hand once more and it encouraged him to continue. His breath stuttered all the while. “I dreamt someone attacked me while I was patrolling, coming upon me while I was in the lower levels of the castle. I fought him. But he used magic to overpower me. He knocked me out.”

“What happened then?”

“I woke up bound and naked.” Arthur shivered at the recollection and struggled to keep his breathing under control as his master had ordered. His abdomen tightened. His cock pulsed between his thighs. A warm sweat broke out on his skin. “I could feel him watching me struggle to escape. But it was fruitless. I was at his mercy, and he knew it. He revelled in it.”

Merlin inhaled sharply, his grip tightening, and urged him to continue.

“He touched me and then punished me for struggling to get away, for protesting his touch.” Heat flooded through Arthur at the memory, flooding his belly, and tingling in his veins. His breath quickened against his will. “He...he coerced me to submit to his touch. I was trapped. I couldn’t escape him. I couldn’t fight. Submission was the last path remaining and I didn’t have a choice but to take it.”

“You liked it. You liked being helpless. You liked having no choice but to give in to him.” Merlin gazed at him ceaselessly, the depths of his stare burning with something that made his heart pound in his chest. Arthur nodded dumbly, drawing his hand to his groin and letting Merlin feel how much. The pair of them drew a tremulous breath together as the palm pressed against the damp heat and then Merlin kissed him heatedly, his mouth harsh and bruising, and Arthur clutched at him eagerly, whimpering, a well of need surging deep within his core. Merlin pressed their brows together several moments later and panted breathlessly, his cheeks flushed and rosy, but his brow troubled. His hand came to cradle his face. “I want to bring this dream to fruition in some way, but I’m concerned about being caught. You know the risks as well as I do.”

“I won’t let him take this away,” Arthur whispered immediately, his hands trembling as he clung to his master. He did his best to reassure the man that found so much pleasure in witnessing his submission. “I won’t let him break us apart. I’ll convince him that I can’t change the fact that I’m a deviant. I’ll convince him that I’d rather place trust in someone who’d proven their loyalty, instead of choosing from the nobles that I must watch at all times.”

“That isn’t what I’m worried about.” Merlin released a breath and pressed a kiss against his forehead briefly, framing his face with both hands now. He stared at Arthur seriously, his gaze nebulous once more. “Someone might see us in that corridor and alert the guards. Word will spread that I’m a sorcerer.”

“Then we don’t have to do this. We’ll find some other way,” Arthur answered quickly, his heart thumping at the thought of Merlin being captured. He couldn’t bear the thought of having to put Merlin on trial for having magic or for an attempted abduction of the current regent. He couldn’t bear to see the man he loved imprisoned for wanting to help him. “We’ll think of something else.”

“No.” Merlin shook his head and released him before rising to his feet. He started pacing across the bedchamber. “You need me to do this and I want to do this. It will require some thinking, some clever scheduling, but we can pull this game off somehow.”

“You’re certain about doing this?”

“Absolutely,” Merlin answered immediately, firmly, his blue stare blazing as he ceased pacing and his cheeks still flushed with warmth from hearing about the dream. His lips looked bruised after their burst of passion a few moments ago. “But we need to decide when we’ll do this.”

“I don’t want to know.” Arthur looked down at his hands and remembered the sharp burst of terror that flooded through his veins when that silent assailant had seized him from behind. He remembered the impossible strength of that hand as it clamped down over his mouth. He remembered the sounds of their scuffle as Arthur fought with all his might and failed to free himself before he was hauled into the shadows. He remembered the hiss of the old tongue against the shell of his ear and the sudden heaviness that took over his limbs even as his heart tried to punch a hole through his chest for the seconds before oblivion claimed him. “I don’t want to be involved in the planning. Knowing when it will happen will make it feel less real. It’ll feel like a fabrication.”

“It is a fabrication.”

“You know what I mean!”

“I suppose I do.” Merlin closed the distance between them abruptly, capturing his chin and encouraging him to raise his head for a moment. A warm smile curled around his mouth and Arthur couldn’t help smiling in return. Those damned smiles were infectious. But that warm expression grew a fraction more serious a moment later as Merlin carded a hand through his hair. Arthur captured his hand with his own and squeezed lightly, grateful that Merlin hadn’t turned him away, hadn’t cast him aside for being too perverse. He loved Merlin more with each passing breath. He was a better master than he’d ever dreamed of having. “But we both know that this is nothing more than a fantasy, a role play, because I would never participate in something like this otherwise. Our mutual consent is what makes situations like this possible. You know that.”

“I do know that.” Arthur raised his pale hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against the palm before nuzzling against it. Silence reigned for several moments before he spoke again and he did so quietly, almost reluctantly, ashamed of how he’d acted earlier. Now that he’d seen Merlin be so accepting, he wasn’t certain how he’d ever believed that Merlin wouldn’t understand the desire now coursing through him. “I’m sorry, you know. That I didn’t trust this bond between us long enough to open up.”

“There is no shame in being afraid to open up – not when it comes to something like this.” His master sat beside him all over again and gathered him close. “Participating in something like this isn’t for all kinds of people. You were right to be cautious. What disappointed me was the assumption that I wouldn’t even listen. We might not have come to an agreement so quickly, if it wasn’t something I found appealing, but I’d have listened all the same. You’re not alone in having fantasies like this.”

“You have fantasies like this?”

“Of course I do. We all have fantasies – even when we aren’t willing to acknowledge them aloud to ourselves. Most of mine aren’t feasible.” Merlin pressed a kiss against his temple and squeezed him closer for a moment. Arthur basked in his touch for as long as possible. “But we’ll talk about mine another day; I want to focus on bringing that dream to life right now. I’ll handle the planning, and you’ll know when it happens.”

“I can’t wait.”


	2. Chapter Two

It was quiet when Arthur turned the corner a month later and found himself not too far from the dungeons. It was almost too quiet. But that was often the case now that Arthur had assumed regency, caring for the realm while his father was incapacitated. It wasn’t often that he had convicts shouting from their cells below the castle. He preferred to offer mercy, wherever it seemed applicable. Most of the crime he’d witnessed during his tenure as a nobleman had been the harsh result of starvation and poverty, and those who surrendered to him when apprehended often secured clemency, and a position in the guardhouse or as a servant in the household. It allowed them to earn a better living, enough to feed themselves and their family, the ones who depended on them most.

But there were some crimes that allowed no room for such a decision. Some criminals were sentenced to confinement for a period of reflection and then rehabilitated in some way, and others were sentenced to execution in the more extreme cases.

Arthur did his best to rule with a benevolent hand: he detested execution.

Frowning, Arthur thought of his ailing father and experienced a sharp pang of remorse. His father hadn’t been the most merciful King, but he’d cared for the people under his banner in his own strained and distant way, and it wounded Arthur to see Camelot robbed of her monarch before his time. It wounded him despite having come to understand that the judgement of the King, a man he’d idolised since he was a small boy, was not absolute. His position didn’t make his personal opinion truth. His opinion became law and there was a world of difference between law and truth. Arthur had struggled to swallow that fact for so long, and it had been his bond with Merlin that had helped him in the end. It helped him even now. It helped him deal with the fact that deceiving the crown was required in order to keep the man he loved safe from harm. He wasn’t certain he could function without Merlin now and he didn’t want to find out.

Arthur was still thinking about Merlin when the small hairs on the back of his neck rose in warning and he slowed gradually, listening, a burst of adrenaline spiking through his veins. His gaze swept ahead. He noted the torches flickering, casting deep shadows into crevices and alcoves. He peered into each one and saw nothing, nothing that could explain the awakening of his senses or the burst of adrenaline he’d experienced. Swallowing convulsively, Arthur stopped and reached for the hilt of his blade with a firm hand. He glanced over his shoulder and cast his penetrating gaze into the darkness looming behind him. Several moments passed before he concluded that he’d imagined it: there was nothing and no one in the corridor behind him. It was the result of the combination of stress and fatigue that had plagued him for so long and nothing more than that. Arthur released a breath and shook his head in frustration – at himself and the situation he’d found himself in when Morgana stabbed their father in his metaphorical back.

The situation had him jumping at shadows now.

He needed to sleep.

In the morning, he’d revise the patrol schedule and see whether he could squeeze in another few hours of sleep throughout the week. Merlin would help him sort something out. His master often complained that he didn’t give himself enough time to sleep. Arthur didn’t often have that luxury, not after he’d assumed his regency, and that would remain true for as long as he ruled. He heaved a sigh and kept going, needing to patrol another few corridors before he could retire for the night and crawl into bed.

Arthur turned the corner and almost choked on a shout a moment later as a hand clamped down upon his mouth. Another hand wrenched his wrist to the side and twisted it uncomfortably, painfully, preventing him from reaching for his blade even as Arthur stamped down with his foot. A masculine grunt of pain echoed through the corridor before his assailant whirled around to slam him up against the stone wall. His breath rattled out of him and his knees threatened to buckle for a moment before Arthur managed to snap his head back and send them both stumbling, his assailant tripping over his own feet and almost bringing them both down to the hard floor. His head reeling, Arthur thrashed against the arm now clamping around his middle like solid iron and the hand keeping his protests muffled.

Arthur thrashed as the man hauled him away, intent on forcing him into the shadows and out of sight. He wouldn’t go. He wouldn’t let them take him. He kicked his legs up and planted his boots against the wall on both sides of the narrow alcove. Grunting, he pushed against the wall even as his assailant pushed back mercilessly, unrelenting, an endless pressure at his back. His lungs burned for breath as that damned hand continued to gag him. His muscles tightened and strained. His knees and ankles protested. Arthur had never been a weakling; he’d trained since he was a boy, eager and bursting with energy, and he’d taken to swordsmanship like a duck to water. He’d grown stronger and stronger since then. He knew he was powerful. He knew he was lethal and that his frame was his greatest weapon. But the strength facing him now seemed impossible. It was forceful and demanding, pushing against him and pushing, never once relenting for even the briefest moment.

Superseding the exertion of his body, a cold sweat broke out upon his skin as Arthur realised that this feat of strength wasn’t human. It wasn’t something found in a common man. Terror crashed through him in a powerful wave a moment before his straining limbs gave way, escaping the risk of snapping, and allowing his assailant to force him into the shadows.

Something that resembled a sob swelled in his throat and Arthur swallowed it down convulsively, refusing to give the bastard the satisfaction. Foreign lips found his ear. His assailant hissed words from the old tongue and Arthur knew this was the end. This would be the moment he’d vanish without a trace and Camelot would be left without a regent. Camelot would be unprotected and Merlin would be alone. His heart tried to punch a hole through his chest at the thought even as a wave of sudden fatigue washed over him.

His frame went limp.

His vision swam before turning black.

Groaning softly, his frame heavy, Arthur emerged from unconsciousness an indeterminate amount of time later. It took several moments for his memories to kick back in and then he was aware instantly, his frame tensing, and his heart pounding in his chest. Several realisations clicked into place at once: he was naked and bound firmly, his arms stretching out ahead of him and his chest pressing flat against a narrow table that seemed solid and sturdy; his legs were spread wide and secured in place. It forced him into an obscene display, and just that knowledge was enough to bring a horrified heat rushing to his face. A swath of cloth had been forced between his lips and secured behind his head. He couldn’t tell what colour. His breath quickening, Arthur cast his gaze around in an attempt to assess the situation he’d been forced into.

Arthur was in an unfamiliar chamber. The space wasn’t much larger than a dungeon cell and he might have assumed it to be such a thing, but for the solid oak door at the edge of his peripheral vision. There was no sign of dust or disuse. His throat tightened with no small amount of distress. He had to assume the chamber had frequent visitors: he wasn’t the first to be held there and he wouldn’t be the last. Another wave of terror washed through him at the thought. Arthur struggled to push the terror down: it wouldn’t help him escape in the least. He focused on the chamber surrounding him. There was nothing and no one in front of him or off to the side. He strained his neck in an attempt see what was behind him and gave up quickly, the pain sharp and unbearable.

Doing his best to keep his breathing steady, knowing that nothing would help less than panicking, Arthur gripped the chain in front of him and tugged against the manacles securing his wrists in place. He tugged and he tugged against the manacles. Freedom seemed so close: a single ring of steel kept the chain and attached manacles in place. He just had to loosen its grip. He’d then free his ankles somehow. Grunting and growling, he pulled and pulled against the chain holding him in place and relieved tears welled to the surface as the ring shifted a fraction of an inch.

That was when he heard a wicked chuckle emanating from behind him.

Arthur froze immediately, his heart leaping into his throat and attempting to punch a hole through it. A sickened shudder rippled through him when he realised his captor could see him. He could see all of him. Shame and humiliation scalded his face even as terror tightened his abdomen. He tried to close his legs despite the futility, needing to preserve some small scrap of his dignity, and knowing that his shame would be absolute before his time as a captive came to an end. Relieved tears grew despairing when a snap of harsh fingers and a controlled burst of magic wrenched the ring he’d worked loose back into place. Arthur could almost feel the smug satisfaction radiating from his captor as he came to the realisation that there would be no escaping, not unless his captor made some fatal mistake.

He was trapped.

His heart thundering, and his mind on the verge of panicking, Arthur forced himself to take as deep a breath as possible. He focused on his captor all the while. He listened to the subtle swish of fabric as his captor approached at his leisure.

Adrenaline spiked through his veins.

Arthur tried to calculate the various possibilities ahead of him: how his captor might touch him and how he might resist. His thighs tensed against the likelihood that his captor would choose to touch the swell of his backside or even the taint itself. He’d been informed that his backside was irresistible more than once. That knowledge had once flooded him with pride and now he felt nothing but terror.

Without warning, soft fingertips grazed his perineum and Arthur did his best to wrench himself away, flinching, his shout of protest garbled. A surge of magic seized him a moment later and forced him still.

“You should consider doing as I say,” his captor announced coldly, darkly, his voice a threat and a promise. His hand fisted his hair and wrenched his head back roughly, the force earning a pained shout. Gold glimmered within a face cast in unnatural shadows. “I can think of quicker means to achieve obedience. We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way, Pendragon.”

Arthur cursed through his gag at the bastard and glared venomously, heedless of the unshed tears still welling. It wasn’t a surprise when his captor released another wicked chuckle and stepped away, a smirk apparent in the long lines of his frame as he relinquished his hair.

There wasn’t a scrap of meat on him.

No wonder he’d had to resort to magic to have his way; Arthur could have snapped him like a twig otherwise. A warm wave of satisfaction rippled through his frame at the thought. He’d have emerged victorious from their fight were it not for the magic used against him during his abduction. Arthur clung to that knowledge as one would cling to the edge of a cliff.

His captor disappeared from view and Arthur heard him humming, the tune a familiar ditty, but the low tone of it dark and almost perverse. It earned an immediate shudder of trepidation from him. Arthur was under no illusions as to his presence in this accursed place. He’d be defiled and enslaved or used to gain control of Camelot. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what he’d be worth on the slave market or as a puppet. He was far more valuable alive than as a rotting corpse in the ground. His heart thumping, Arthur listened to his captor closely, tracking his movements in an attempt to anticipate what might happen next. Anticipation tightened his frame steadily, familiar and aching, a sensation that shifted from hot to cold in rapid succession. His breath quickened in his chest as his captor approached slowly, still humming, his voice low and molten. His hands clenched with fear of the unknown a moment before the hard tip of something long and narrow teased across his backside for an instant.

Arthur swallowed convulsively, his heart thundering, recognising the shape and feel of the implement at once. He hadn’t been caned in so long, but he could still remember the sharp kiss from when he was a growing boy, pushing against the boundaries the Knight training him had put in place. He remembered the shame and humiliation of being punished despite his position. He remembered the confusing waves of arousal that had flooded him.

Arthur pulled against the chain securing him in place and then choked on a cry, the cane coming down hard against his backside. His hips jerked. He tried to twist away, his lungs almost seizing, and the pain bright and vivid across his vulnerable flesh. But his tears didn’t fall. He wouldn’t let them. He couldn’t give his captor the satisfaction of knowing he’d found one of his accursed weaknesses. A moment or so passed as the sharp and vivid pain faded into a warm throbbing, the tendrils of that throb spreading across his backside as it would after a hard spanking from Merlin. The cane teased across his flesh once again before coming down with another hard strike. Arthur struggled to focus on his breathing, on the fact that this wasn’t a night of trust and play, unwilling to give in to the pool of unwanted heat surging in his abdomen.

His hands clenched and unclenched as two strikes became three and then more. He couldn’t help moaning after the tenth strike of the cane as his captor ran soft fingertips across the welts blossoming across his vulnerable skin. Shame burned through him upon hearing that sound falling from his own tongue. Arthur was sweating already, the barrel of his chest heaving, that unwanted heat still pooling in his abdomen and spreading outward slowly, radiating up to his chest and down between his legs. His backside wouldn’t stop throbbing, sending those waves of pain rippling through him – a shameful pleasure and a torment in equal measure.

His captor chuckled wickedly, his accursed hand sliding up the length of his back to fist his hair all over again and force Arthur to look at him. Arthur breathed rapidly, his gag drenched with saliva and his face scorched with shame. His captor leaned in almost close enough to steal a kiss and said smugly, triumphantly, “Submitting, are we?”

Arthur shook his head as hard as his strained position allowed and growled at the man holding him in captivity, glaring at him with as much venom as he could muster in his current state. He wasn’t surprised when his captor shoved his head down with a rough hand and stalked away, his slender frame tensing with something akin to anger. Something like determination burned in his golden stare before his captor disappeared from view once more. If he’d thought he’d received a hard caning already, Arthur couldn’t have been more wrong: the next blow that came was like a burst of fire across his skin and he couldn’t help screaming, the sound choking itself back down to a ragged whimper as his cock throbbed between his thighs. Three more strikes like that and his tears were spilling, the unwanted fusion of vibrant pain and shameful pleasure spreading through him in an almost violent surge. His hips couldn’t stop themselves from rocking back into each painful strike once those tears began falling, Arthur moaning and sobbing, his frame alight with fire.

Seed dripped from his cock.

His captor ceased caning him long after he’d lost count of the strikes and Arthur was nothing more than a quivering mess. He didn’t have the strength to lift his head when his captor stepped away, triumph and satisfaction radiating from his accursed frame. He didn’t have the strength to track his movements. He didn’t have the strength to resist when his captor returned a few moments later and undid his gag with one quick hand while the other set something in front of his head.

“You’ve decided to be a good boy; I think that deserves a reward.” His captor fisted his hair and raised his head roughly, allowing Arthur to see the device he’d set down in doing so. His abdomen tightened. In front of him was a wooden phallus set upon a mechanism that reminded him somewhat of the war machines he’d studied as a boy, and Arthur could do nothing but stare at the girth of it. There was no doubt as to its purpose. His captor drew the phallus closer and Arthur had no chance to protest before his captor shoved it past his parted lips. A wet heat enveloped his own cock almost instantly, and Arthur couldn’t help groaning, the sound reverberating down his own aching length. His captor leaned down closer to say, his voice low and almost purring, “Suck it.”

His captor eased his grip as Arthur began to obey, tightening his lips around the thick girth and whimpering, bobbing his head in a careful fashion. He couldn’t risk doing it much faster: if something went wrong, he couldn’t prevent himself from choking on the phallus stretching his lips. His cock experienced each slow dip of his head and each wet glide of his tongue. Arthur soon began trembling, his cock as hard as iron and aching, vibrating with each moan of shameful pleasure that escaped his throat. He was so lost in the sensations that he almost forgot about his captor until soft fingertips grazed behind his bollocks. Tears welled to the surface all over again as those fingertips began teasing, moving upwards slowly, coming to rest against his vulnerable taint for a moment before caressing. His captor pressed just so and Arthur moaned loudly, his hips twitching, pressing back against those questing fingers as the phallus in his mouth twitched in tandem with his hips.

A whispered word and those fingers were slick with oil.

His face burning, flushed with shame and ecstasy, Arthur whimpered as his captor continued caressing, pressing, urging him to relax beneath his touch. He did so without a fight and soon one long finger pressed deep inside him. He tried to focus on keeping his breathing even – on keeping himself calm as his captor continued to have his wicked way, knowing that tensing against the intrusion would hurt him more than it would hurt his accursed captor. He continued to bob his head all the while. His jaw ached. His neck strained from the effort. But he never stopped moving, never stopped flicking and sliding his tongue against the thick phallus in his mouth. He never let his lips slacken. He kept his cheeks hollowed as he tormented his own cock at the behest of his captor.

Several humiliated tears slipped free of his lashes.

“I wonder what the King would say, if he knew what kind of whore he’d raised.”

His captor chuckled as Arthur choked on a sob upon hearing that cruel remark. It was something he’d feared since he was a growing boy, ever since he’d first experienced those confusing waves of arousal as his mentor had caned him for wilful disobedience. Arthur pulled against the chain securing him in place and then continued sobbing, unwanted pleasure shooting through his veins as those fingers assaulted that bundle of nerves inside him. His back arched. His cocked throbbed all over again. His thighs quivered. He knew he was getting closer and closer to a powerful orgasm. His captor began fingering him hard and fast and Arthur couldn’t stop shaking, doing his best to keep himself from coming, knowing his captor would never let him live down the shame and humiliation.

“I wonder what the people would say,” his captor goaded smugly, leaning down over him to bite at his shoulder roughly, his shadowed mouth curling around a smirk. “I wonder how their common appetites would react to seeing their prideful Prince on display; these thick thighs spread wide and welcoming, waiting for the next eager fuck. You’d love it. You’d revel in it. You’d moan like a whore each time someone slammed inside. I could put a price on this arse and no one would dare complain. I’d considered one fuck per shilling, but we want it accessible. Don’t we? We want even the poorest farmhands capable of sampling such noble delights. How about we set the price at a farthing?”

Arthur choked upon another sob. Humiliation burned a trail through his veins. A cruel hand pressed against the back of his head as he tried to pull away, forcing him to take the phallus deeper even as those questing fingers slipped free. His captor pressed the head of his blunt cock against his taint and Arthur struggled to keep calm as the phallus remained in his throat for longer than necessary, his lungs protesting, and his face drenched with tears and spit. The hand forcing his head down didn’t retract until his captor was flush against the scorching welts marring his backside and Arthur drew away, dragging in several frantic breaths before his captor began thrusting, at first slow and steady, but gaining speed with each one. Hot pain flared across his backside after each new thrust and Arthur couldn’t help moaning, his frame melting, as the flashes of pain morphed into pleasure. The phallus in his mouth began rocking, moving in time with the wanton shift of his own hips.

He was trapped.

Arthur was trapped between a rock and a hard place and all he could do was take whatever he was subjected to. His veins started singing, the pain and shameful pleasure weaving a song from each harsh slap of narrow hips against his burning backside and each breath stolen as the thick phallus claimed his mouth over and over against his will. Liquid heat flooded through his core. He could feel himself floating, starting to drift away, losing himself in the sensations assailing him. He was aware of nothing, nothing but the feel of that hard cock sliding in deep and one rough hand now gripping his hair. Dimly, Arthur recognised that his captor was thrusting harder and gripping him tighter. It was negligible compared to this floating, this weightlessness as his own cock pulsed and pulsed and pulsed. He sighed in pleasure as he went limp and boneless.

It could have been moments and it could have been hours before his captor slammed deep one last time and painted him with warmth before slumping atop him. A soft voice whispered incomprehensible words against his skin an indeterminate amount of time later and the weight abandoned him. Gentle hands cradled his head and eased his mouth away, allowing the wooden phallus to slip free from his aching jaw. His head was set back down with gentle care before those same hands released his wrists from the manacles keeping him secure. That soft voice murmured tender nothings as those hands soothed the muscles stretching from his wrists to shoulders and then his neck. A vague sense of confusion filtered through him as those hands disappeared after a few moments and reappeared near his ankles.

Arthur almost fell from the table as his freed legs buckled.

“Easy, darling boy, easy,” that voice murmured softly, a pair of slender arms firm around him as Arthur was lowered down to the stone floor carefully, his bulk welcomed against a warm chest. One gentle hand tucked his head beneath a pointed chin and the other ran down the length of his back in a tender caress. Soft lips found his forehead as that floating sensation began falling away, leaving Arthur tired and aching, shaking and humiliated. Tears surged all over again. Merlin held him and caressed him all the while. Kisses rained down over his hair and his skin and all Arthur could do was cling, cling to the man who’d shattered him apart and would now put him back together again. Merlin cradled him closer. “You did so well tonight. You were such a good boy, so brave. Your resistance and submission were so captivating, darling boy, and so beautiful. I can’t describe how proud I am. You were wonderful.”

Arthur buried his face against his narrow shoulder to hide his tears and wasn’t surprised when Merlin started humming, the sound warm and soothing, nothing like the perverse tones he’d used during their game. He was relieved to hear that warmth. Their game had been intense – almost too intense. He wasn’t certain he wanted to do something like that again. Arthur continued to cling to his master and soaked up the praise and affection falling upon him like rain. He clung to his softness and his warmth. He clung to his gentle nature. Merlin continued to cradle him as Arthur wept until there were no more tears to cry, his face swollen and aching, and then he transported them both out of that chamber with a burst of controlled magic.

His master deposited him upon the soft expanse of his own bed carefully, setting him down on his stomach. His hands were tender as Merlin cleaned him up and then cared for the welts he’d bestowed upon Arthur with such masterful control. He offered soft sounds of sympathy, murmuring even more words of adoration and praise as Arthur surrendered himself to his tender ministrations despite the soft whimpers that escaped him upon each careful touch. Merlin tended to his thirst once he was finished tending to his aches and pains. He sat on the edge of the bed then and carded his hand through his hair slowly, a loving smile curled around his mouth as he gazed down at Arthur and Arthur peered back up at him groggily, slumber creeping upon him.

“What else can I do?”

“Stay,” Arthur whispered raggedly, surprising himself and his master in the same breath. Normally, he asked for some space in the wake of their affection and play, but now...right now he couldn’t fathom being separated from Merlin for even a moment. He reached for his hand. “Just hold me. Please.”

Merlin softened visibly, and then rose from the edge to strip down to nothing before climbing onto the bed. He settled down beside him and reached for the bedclothes. He’d dressed the bed in the softest sheets available that morning and the pair of them basked in the softness together. Merlin helped him onto his side and then drew him closer with an almost overwhelming amount of tenderness. Arthur tucked his head beneath his chin as their legs tangled together.

A whispered word plunged them into shadow and Arthur knew no more.   


End file.
